


The Night the Wall Came Down

by hesterbyrde



Series: Friendship is Unnecessary [9]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Morning Sex, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Past Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, but I promise it has a happyish ending, happyish for taking place in the middle of Endgame, or at least, past natasha romanov/phil coulson - Freeform, past steve rogers/bucky barnes/natasha romanoff, post snap, takes place during Avengers: Endgame, this one's a sad one guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 05:28:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18732529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hesterbyrde/pseuds/hesterbyrde
Summary: For the first time since Thanos had snapped his fingers, Steve woke up in an empty bed.In a way… the shock itself was a shock. Not that he and Natasha hadn't made a habit of sleeping together before, but it had been just that. A general habit. Not something that always occurred, but it occurred more often than not. An action unexamined and lacking any sort of premeditation.But after everything went to hell… after the Snap… after they had all collectively and quite decisively failed, they practically never did anything alone. Sure, they were by no means joined at the hip, but as the days fanned out into weeks and then into months, new habits were forming and old ones were deepening.  And the two of them were decidedly sticking close together. Closer than before anyway. They ran together each morning. Usually ate at least one meal together in their adjoined rooms. And generally they drifted nearer and nearer with each passing day. It was as though they nursed the phantom limb that was Bucky Barnes together.That was why it was such a slap in the face for Steve to reach for her in the misty light of early morning, still half-blind with sleep, and find nothing but cold, empty sheets.





	The Night the Wall Came Down

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Monday, everyone!
> 
> Well! I finally get to post this one! I've been working on it since... *checks some dates* Holy fuck, since last summer some time. It's been sitting half-finished in my draft folder for months because after I started it, I realized that it might not fit with Endgame. And since I want to keep to canon as much as possible (barring the fix-it that I'm working on as a final chapter for this series), I decided to wait to publish until I saw Endgame. And I'm really glad I did. I had to change the setting of the beginning from Wakanda to the New York facility for one... and I couldn't resist throwing Carol Danvers into the mix briefly. She and Steve did not get nearly enough time onscreen together and that was a tragedy.
> 
> Thank you all so so so much for all your wonderful comments and encouragement as I've been working on this series. This would have just been a one-and-done little hurt/comfort fic after Infinity War had I not gotten so much wonderful feedback. So thank you! I hope you enjoy this installment. And there's more to come! At least three or four more one-shots and a multi-chapter fix-it for the end of Endgame. I post semi-weekly updates about my writing over on Tumblr at @littlethingwithfeathers so come give me a follow there if you want the inside scoop.
> 
> And thank you to my beta readers KaminaDuck and TenaciousAeolai. You guys are the best! I couldn't do this without you.
> 
> Title and lyrics are taken from the song "St. Stephen's Cross" by Vienna Teng.
> 
> Enjoy the fic, and have a great week everyone!

_He was there the night the wall came down._  
_He lost her in the endless crowd,_  
_In the shadow of St. Stephen's cross._  
_He sent cries aloft for his fellow man,_  
_His fingers slipping from her hand,_  
_The rain clouds prowling overhead._

***

For the first time since Thanos had snapped his fingers, Steve woke up in an empty bed.

In a way… the shock itself was a shock. Not that he and Natasha hadn't made a habit of sleeping together before, but it had been just that. A general habit. Not something that always occurred, but it occurred more often than not. An action unexamined and lacking any sort of premeditation. 

But after everything went to hell… after the Snap… after they had all collectively and quite decisively failed, the two of them quite purposefully never slept alone. They practically never did anything alone. Sure, they were by no means joined at the hip, but as the days fanned out into weeks and then into months, new habits were forming and old ones were deepening. And the two of them were decidedly sticking close together. Closer than before anyway. They ran together each morning. Usually ate at least one meal together in their adjoined rooms. And generally they drifted nearer and nearer with each passing day. It was as though they nursed the phantom limb that was Bucky Barnes together. 

That was why it was such a slap in the face for Steve to reach for her in the misty light of early morning, still half-blind with sleep, and find nothing but cold, empty sheets. It had shocked him at first, sending him vaulting suddenly into wakefulness as his hands scrabbled in the bedclothes. It was a few heaving breaths at least until the more rational parts of his brain managed to catch up to the current situation. 

He was in his room at HQ in upstate New York. The sun wasn't up, but it already looked like a dismal morning outside. The coffee pot was on and still had most of a pot of coffee. And Natasha was nowhere to be seen or heard. Her shoes were gone from their usual spot beside the door. Meaning… maybe she'd had trouble sleeping? Had gone for a run? Or maybe wanted an early breakfast? That was unlike her, but...

Initially, Steve tried his best to think nothing of it. He went for his own morning run in an effort to beat the impending drizzle. Then he showered and had breakfast before heading downstairs, thinking surely he'd find Natasha somewhere on the compound. Maybe she'd really just had trouble sleeping. Maybe a call had come in the middle of the night. Maybe Clint had needed something… they hadn't heard from him in a stretch, and it had started to worry them both. Perhaps that was it, and she hadn't wanted to wake him until… until they had something, maybe.

Maybe…

But when lunch rolled around and he still hadn't run into her, Steve decided it was time he went looking.

One half of the second floor of the Avengers compound had been converted into an operations center by Natasha and Rhodey. And the other half was the lab. Or it would be… if there was anyone to run it. Selvig and Jane were both dust. Bruce was around occasionally, running numbers and looking at energy signatures… searching the cosmos to see if there was some slim chance that Thanos was lying about having destroyed the Stones. And additionally, there was a great deal of information on the Infinity Stones themselves to study as well. Precious little was known about them, save the publicized SHIELD research on the Tesseract and some half-redacted work from HYDRA on the Chitauri scepter from before anyone knew it was just a housing for the Mind Stone. But there was a lot to unpack there, and unfortunately there was no substitute for time. And time in turn was not being kind. As the days wound on, it was clear that the general belief that there might be some sort of hidden "undo button" as Banner called it had begun to wane.

But despite the dwindling hope of a reversal, the operations side of Avengers HQ was still fairly well-staffed and lively. Even now that they'd found Tony Stark. Darcy Lewis was still around, and she and a small cadre of former SHIELD agents were frantically following the trends of societal upheaval and government reaction, recommending responses where they could. Sharon Carter was there off and on, feeding them intel on threats and issues that were potentially above the CIA pay grade. And usually Natasha was there too, working with Sharon and Rhodey to build a global communication network for monitoring threats. Stillness almost seemed to be a crime in the aftermath as the new normal took hold. Or perhaps more accurately it seemed a faux pas. The whole facility, despite being quite literally half-empty, was still a machine in perpetual motion. 

And that machine had included Steve, until he had woken up without Natasha that morning. Now he just stood in the doorway of the operations bay, watching the computers mill through data.

Rocket spied him not long after he'd arrived, and sauntered over with a cup of coffee in his paw. He tended to lurk around operations most of the time when he wasn't looking for an excuse to go play with the equipment down in the hangar. Sometimes he had mission insight particularly where space-faring threats were concerned, but he mostly just watched the lab rats run in their wheels. And played with his weapons.

"Morning, Steve." he greeted, toasting him with his coffee.

"Good morning, Rocket." he replied. "You're up early."

"More like just still up." he shrugged, swirling black coffee around and around in his cup before taking a drink. "Couldn't sleep so I decided to come be a nuisance."

Steve's mouth pulled and he let one hand drop to find the twitchy muscles behind the raccoon's ears and give them a scratch. Rocket raised up on his toes, arching up towards his fingers.

"Holding up alright?" Steve asked.

Rocket's snout wrinkled. "I'm about as good as anyone else. Which is to say not really, but what the hell, y'know? How 'bout you?" 

Steve just lifted his shoulder in a wordless shrug and shook his head.

"What's got you down here anyway?" The raccoon frowned. "Danvers call you? She swooped in last night."

"No." Steve answered. "I'm looking for Natasha actually. Have you seen her?"

Rocket shook his head. "No, but Carol might've. She's been down here longer than me this morning. I'm starting to think she never sleeps."

"Thanks." Steve clapped him on the shoulder before weaving his way to an upright console where Carol was squinting at a display that reeled with communication data.

"Captain." Steve greeted formally, even as a smile threatened to pull his mouth out of its stern shape.

"Captain." Carol returned just as seriously, though her tone was also betrayed somewhat by that little twist of a half-smile she seemed to always wear. 

It was sort of an in-joke between the two of them. They'd taken to both answering when someone asked for "Captain" just for a bit of a laugh. A stolen bit of happiness when they ought to have none.

"Pardon me if I'm interrupting." Steve said, coming to stand beside her.

"Not at all." She straightened a little, turning to face him with a quixotic bend to her brow. "You're not usually down here unless there's a briefing. Looking for something? 

"More like someone." he replied, setting his hands on his hips. "I was curious if you'd seen Natasha today?"

She nodded, turning back to her intel as she spoke. "Oh. Yeah. She requisitioned a Quinjet this morning."

Steve blinked in surprise. "A Quinjet?"

"Yes." Carol drew the word out as the understanding dawned on her that this was news to Steve. "I assumed you'd be going with her."

Steve shook his head. "She didn't say where she was going by any chance?"

"No, but there's tracking on all our jets. Assuming she didn't disable it, I could tell you where she is. Maybe tell you where she's going if she has the autopilot engaged."

Steve pressed his lips into a thin line as his stomach soured. If Natasha had left without telling him where she was going, then maybe that's exactly what she wanted. Maybe…

"Can I just have a look?" he asked, feeling a little reckless for the request. But it was just information. And if she had left the tracking enabled then maybe…

Maybe...

"Of course." Carol passed him a tablet. "Here's the manifest for all the vehicles going in and out today. She should be the one at the top of the departures. First flight out this morning."

A few swipes of his fingers and Steve had the flight information pulled up. Sure enough, Natasha had taken a single Quinjet with no cargo or weapons at 4:32am that morning. She was alone. And according to the autopilot, she was headed to Manitowoc, Wisconsin.

Manitowoc, Wisconsin. Why? What in the hell was in the middle of Wisconsin? Why on the twenty-sixth of April would she be headed-

He looked at the date again, and the steel trap of his mind snapped closed.

_The fall of SHIELD._

SHIELD had crumbled on April the twenty-sixth. The helicarriers had crashed into the Potomac and the Triskelion was left a bleeding, burning husk by its own creations. That date was burned indelibly into Steve's mind from the days and days of questioning on Capitol Hill. Even in spite of all he'd seen over the last few years, Steve would never forget it as long as he lived. 

But as shocking and galling as it was for him, the knife had cut much deeper for Natasha. This was the day when it had all melted out from under her. The day she had to question yet again… who was she? What was she? And because of that, this day was always hard for her. Steve had gotten a mission on this day. A trajectory. An objective. And he'd gotten his best friend back after a fashion. Or at least, he'd at least been given hope. His allegiance to SHIELD had been tenuous at best. Almost a formality… a favor done to the memory of Peggy Carter. But when he saw how that memory had been twisted and tarnished, he'd had no trouble burning it all to the foundation.

But Natasha? She had lost everything. Her mentor. Her credibility. Her cover. The life she thought she was building for herself had come apart in shredded tatters, and she watched as the person she had spent nearly two decades trying to become sank into the Potomac along with Project Insight. And she had been rebuilding ever since. It was a fight… a journey… one Steve was proud of her for making. But it had not been easy, and old demons still prowled around the edges of her uncertainty.

But… why was she going to Manitowoc, Wisconsin today? That made absolutely no sense whatsoever. Shouldn't she head for D.C.? What was-

"Steve?" Carol was staring at him, concern pinching her usually placid face. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah. Yeah everything's fine, Carol." He said, strain pulling his voice taught. 

Carol looked like she believed him about as far as she could throw him. Or perhaps a better turn of phrase would be to say she believed him about as far as Rocket could throw him. "Natasha's not in trouble, is she?" she asked, her voice galvanizing a little. "She's not headed somewhere dangerous?"

Steve felt the frown he was wearing guiltily melt from his face. "No no… She's fine." He assured her. "She's… she's just having a hard time."

Carol nodded sympathetically but didn't seem any less worried. "I see."

"It's… I don't know how much of recent history you've gotten caught up on… but this is the day SHIELD fell. When we found out it had been a shell for HYDRA almost since the beginning. That's… It was hard for all of us, but it's always been a particularly rough day for her. SHIELD was a second home for her. Her second chance." 

"Ah." she nodded again, true understanding dawning on her face at that. "You planning on going after her then?"

Steve's mouth pulled into a pucker as he thought. "I don't know."

He had almost said no outright. If Natasha left without him and didn't tell him where she was going, then maybe she didn't want to be followed. And she should be allowed that if it's what she wanted. He'd been where she was now, in a way. He remembered how he'd thought he was going to turtle up after his mom died. How he'd ducked the scattered remnants of his family and the other mourners after the service and the burial. Headed back to the yawning emptiness of his mother's apartment alone...

But Bucky had followed him. He'd given Steve some space, sure. But it wasn't long… not more than a couple of hours before he was dogging Steve's heels with offers of a roof over his head, albeit a leaky one, and… well, he didn't know how much else would come of it. But a home came of it. For a few years at least. Until the war became something more than just a bunch of flickery images in the newsreels. And that home had nothing to do with the aforementioned leaky roof. It had to do with two arms around him every night. An attentive hand when he was sick. Gifts and treats and-

The recollection was like a punch to the gut, hard enough to make Steve swallow and suck in air against the sobbing convulsion of his throat. Everything was still so raw. It had been months… he was even going to a therapy group, but that didn't seem to matter. Every time he thought that it was starting to heal over, a fresh gout of blood would pour out. Steve stepped away from Carol's comm table, and blessedly she let him go without a word, though he could feel her keen eyes following him without staring. 

He braced one forearm on the door jamb, leaning his forehead against a clenched fist and let the emotion wash over him. It was better than fighting it. He'd learned that lesson long ago. And besides, everyone had been caught in moments like these over the last few months as they all sought to rebuild their lives in the aftermath of Thanos's culling. If he turned back to face the room he knew he'd find at least half a dozen faces as red and tear-stained as his own. Everyone had just learned to let each other have their moments. The wreckage of their world was everywhere, inside and out. And it still had sharp edges. 

And for Steve, there was the added pain of a very long history. Every time he thought about Bucky, it was like getting whiplash. Alive or dead? That status had changed so many times. Dead along with the rest of his unit, or just captured in Austria? Dead from the fall from the train? No! Alive again! But… irretrievable… unsavable, right? No?

And now gone again. Beyond all hope it was starting to seem. Bruce was still working on the problem, his tired face pinched as he trawled through equations that made Steve's head spin. But it didn't give Steve much hope. When they'd discovered the Stones were gone… That was it.

But he wanted to hope that what Thanos had done could be set right. Could be undone for all the trillions of souls who mourned across the stars. If Bruce came to him with anything, even the faintest idea of a course of action, he would fight this to his own dying gasp.

But he did not dare hope merely for himself. Not anymore. 

Steve knew there was nothing that could have been done to stop Thanos. At least not on their end of the fight. He'd made peace with that at least. Or was trying to even in spite of Tony's scathing words. They'd done their best, and it wasn't enough, and those were just the facts. And he knew all about what "doing everything" looked like. And more importantly, what it didn't look like. And they had done everything.

Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, Peggy's words from the bombed out bar in London came back to him. 

_Did you believe in your friend? Did you respect him? Then allow him the dignity of his choice._

Bucky's choice had always been to follow him. To follow his friend. Sometimes into a fight. Sometimes following Steve to save him from a fight. But always on his heels. Always ready to help his friend. Always there. 

_Always._

Steve was Natasha's friend. And that's what this looked like, he decided. This was what friendship looked like on them, because that was what they kept calling it, even after everything. It looked like running the grounds together, and morning sex, and "Be carefuls," and now it was going to look like him chasing her to the far off reaches of Wisconsin. Especially if she hadn't bothered to put the first bit of effort into hiding her tracks. 

At length, Steve managed to choke back the tide of grief once more, and focus on the task at hand. He stared down at the flight schedule in his hands, and let his eyes bore into the one mystery left to him.

Manitowoc, Wisconsin.

Why would she go there on the day that SHIELD fell? Why not go to the Triskelion ruins? Or to the Stark Tower? Or to Fury's grave, even though they both knew it to be empty. Someplace where her old life had been buried. The one she'd had before she met Steve...

Where her old life had been…

_Wait._

Steve pulled out his phone and dialed quickly, praying for an answer. It buzzed twice before a rough but familiar voice picked up on the other end. He was actually surprised he'd gotten an answer. Clint had been growing increasingly uncommunicative over the last few weeks.

"Hello? Steve?"

"Hi Clint. I'm sorry to bother you. I don't even… Where are you? What time is it there?"

"Around midnight. I… haven't gone to bed yet." His voice sounded haggard, but not unkind. "What can I help you with, Cap? You sound worried."

Clint sounded really worn down, and guilt twisted in Steve's gut at the thought of what he was about to do. But before he ran off to Wisconsin, he needed an answer to this question. And Clint was probably the only person left alive that could answer it. "Clint, I need to ask you a rather touchy question. And please understand, if I knew of someone else who had this information, I would be asking them."

"Shoot, Cap."

He took a deep breath. "Natasha left the compound by herself. I have her destination off her autopilot transmissions, but where she's going confuses me."

Steve heard a shift of fabric, as if Clint had sat forward at the news. "She's okay?"

"She's fine. I don't think she's in trouble. It's just… it's April twenty-sixth and I..." Steve paused for a moment before huffing out a nervous sigh. "I just… Clint? Where did they bury Phil Coulson?"

***

_She was there the night the wall came down._  
_She faded into that newborn crowd_  
_Like a warning of what could be lost._  
_Through the perforated night she ran,_  
_Her fingers slipping from his hand,_  
_And she breathed in freedom_  
_Before daylight tread._

***

The St. Stephen's Catholic Church of Manitowoc, Wisconsin was an absolute travesty of seventies architectural design. A solid chunk of red brick forming blocky, severe angles that were almost painful to look at. And perched on top was a stumpy little compass needle purporting to be a steeple. The whole thing cast a great distended shadow across the sidewalk in the slowly purpling twilight. And the streetlights painted the grounds with their jaundiced halogen light, serving only to deepen the shadows that were slowly creeping out from their hiding places.

Steve stood outside with his hands in his pockets for longer than he'd meant to. For the first time since Clint had given him the location of Phil Coulson's remains, he questioned if he was doing the right thing by following Natasha here. But he stood there, repeatedly and decisively silencing that question with the certainty that if she didn't want to be followed, she wouldn't have been so easy to find. And she had been remarkably easy to find.

She'd actually left the front door of the church ajar, which from her, was practically an engraved invitation.

The interior was less lamentable than the exterior, and continued to improve as he moved closer to the sanctuary. Steve swiftly realized that the brutish, modern facade was actually an addition. The sanctuary itself was a much, much older structure. According to the plaque by the door, it had originally been built in 1866 by Irish immigrants. A preserved relic of a bygone age. 

Steve pushed the door to the sanctuary open, and squinted into the dimness. There were no lights on inside, but the yellowed light from the streetlamps outside streamed in through the impressive banks of stained glass windows, painting the pews in a rainbow of colors.

Natasha stood near the altar at a table covered in extinguished candles, fingertips resting on the marble top. She didn't look up when Steve entered, but she did tip her head just the slightest fraction, freeing her hair from behind her ear and allowing it to briefly shroud her face. The undyed roots of her growing hair looked shockingly red against the blistered white in the filtered light. Almost bloody...

"You come to bring me back?" She asked, tucking the stray lock of hair back into place.

"No." Steve answered, still standing at the back row of pews. "Not immediately anyway. I had Rocket drop me off actually. Figured you'd probably still have your own ride."

She nodded, still not looking at him. "You were that sure I was here."

"Pretty sure. Carol showed me the flight manifest." He admitted, starting down the center aisle his footsteps slow and careful. As if he were approaching a skittish animal. "Figured if you didn't bother to cover your tracks that you intended on me following you. Took me a minute to work out why you'd come here though. Called Clint to make sure my hunch was right. So I would know where to look once I got here.”

"So what are you doing here? If you didn't come to bring me home." She finally looked up, her eyes puffy and her cheeks stained with old and new grief alike. She wasn't crying at that exact moment, but she had been. Recently. And probably all afternoon. 

Steve stopped halfway down the aisle at that. There was a beat of deafening silence before he answered her with borrowed words. "I didn't want you to be alone." He shrugged, and started moving down the aisle again. "You… you didn't leave me alone when you could have. Should have."

"Should have?"

He just shrugged again, hands on his hips. "You had a lot on your plate in Vienna.”

"And you didn't?"

"You had also signed the Accords." He had reached the front pew and rounded to join her at the table. "But I was glad you were there. I needed you. Even though I didn't want to listen to you. So I thought I'd return the favor."

She just nodded, pressing her lips together in thought for a moment as she turned back to the rack of extinguished candles. "I was never religious. Phil really wasn't either, but… I mean aren't you supposed to…These are for people who have died, right?" She gestured at the candles. "Do… you were raised Catholic, right? How does this work?"

Steve looked around on the table and found an unlit votive and a match for her. "It's… there's not anything fancy to do really." He said, arranging the candle for her and passing her the unlit match. "You just light it for him. You can pray if you pray, or just think about him. It's… this isn't intended to be just for Catholics. It's something anyone can do… to remember someone who's gone."

Natasha nodded, striking the match and watching it burn for a second before touching the flame to the wick of the candle. As she did so, Steve fished a few bills out of his pocket and tucked them into the metal box beside the candle rack. 

As he did so, and as the flames sputtered and swelled, Steve noticed a fresh bout of tears falling down Natasha's cheek as she watched her candle burn. She let them fall for a moment before wiping irritably at them and tossing the match in the trash.

"It seems so small and stupid now." she said bitterly, the words coming out mangled. "Half the world is gone, and I'm… here. Mourning this old wound. Instead of doing something useful.”

"I know you're mourning more than just the fall of SHIELD, Nat."

She nodded absently. For awhile the only sound was the soft creak of the old church around them. But at length she spoke, the words coming like a rushing torrent once she got started. "Clint had been out of our lives romantically for several months already. Y'know… before New York. Having a family away from work does that, I guess. It had been gradual. There was Lila and then Connor. He got busier and busier with stuff on the farm. Didn't stick around much between missions like he used to. And we never grudged it, you know? Phil and I. It wasn't like that. We still spent time together. Laura is… was... great. She was great. And we were Auntie Nat and Uncle Phil." She lifted her shoulders and shot him a saturated smile. "It was still home, and we were still family. Just… it was a little different. In D.C. after that, it was usually just me and Phil. And it was okay."

Steve just found himself nodding along as she told him a story he'd never heard before, but had desperately wanted to ask about for years. But he never had. He knew the time would be right to talk about it one day. Apparently that time was now, on the anniversary of the fall of SHIELD, standing in an old Catholic church and watching a candle burn for a man Steve barely knew. But he couldn't let her tell this story at a distance. So he slipped an arm around her waist, feeling her list against the side of his body as she kept talking.

"Did I ever tell you that Phil was the reason I joined SHIELD?" Natasha said, her voice muffled against the leather of his jacket.

"No."

"He was. Clint saved my life. Spared it, really. But Phil was the one that stuck up for me to Fury. Went to bat for me at every turn. Kept me out of lock up initially. Then got me therapists. Got me trainers. Got me on track to join him and Clint with Strike Team Delta." Natasha said, wiping pitifully at her eyes again as fresh tears chased down her cheeks. "He believed in me. Unflinchingly. Believed I had a place in the world, and that place was with him and with Clint."

"What was he like?" Steve felt himself ask the question before he could bite it back. "I mean… I've honestly always wanted you to tell me about him. I… never knew him outside of a few very awkward conversations before New York."

Natasha laughed a little, the sound breaking off into a wet hiccup. "God, he would turn so fanboy around you. It was adorable."

Steve scuffed his boots on the marble floor. "Don't see why."

"You were his hero!" Natasha said with a saturated smile, her weight hanging affectionately on his elbow. "His childhood hero. He wanted to be like you. Even as an adult. He wanted to fight for people. For what was right."

Steve dismissively shook his head. "I shouldn't be anyone's hero."

Her face went hard as flint then, even with her tear-stained cheeks and swollen eyes. "You don't get to make that call. You were his hero. Full stop." There was a pause, and a brave licking of her lips. "You're my hero, too. You know?"

Steve blinked a few times in shock, both at her words and the certitude behind them.

"That doesn't mean you're perfect." She went on, sternness steadying her voice. "No one's perfect. And that's… that's what SHIELD was about to me. What Phil was about. You don't have… you didn't have to be perfect. You just had to be… good. SHIELD at its core was good. Just like Phil was good. And like you're good."

Steve nodded, trying to absorb all she meant by that. "Thanks, Nat."

She shrugged, turning back to the table and leaning her head on his shoulder again. "Don't mention it."

They swayed together in the silence of the church as they watched the candle burn. They didn't talk. They didn't even really move, save to slowly rock back and forth in the same comfortable space. At one point, Steve felt Natasha press her face tight against his shirt as a fresh bout of tears baptized her face, but he said nothing. He just held her through the soft sobs that shook her frame until she stilled in his arms again.

"You know who Saint Stephen is?" Natasha asked after awhile. Her voice sounded completely waterlogged and wretched.

"The first martyr, right?" he replied, blinking as he tried to recall. "I remember him from Sunday School. Paul the Apostle saw him stoned to death… and then met Christ on the Damascus road."

She nodded. "When you think about it, it's appropriate that Phil's buried here. He was the first one to die for us. Loki struck that blow on purpose."

"And we made him pay for it." Steve said tightly.

"I wish we could've made Thanos pay for it. Really pay for it. Pay for all of it." Natasha said, giving a big sniff. "Loki wouldn't have come to Earth if not for him."

"I know." Steve replied, his tone utterly defeated.

Another silence. The candle flame was steady and bright in the stillness of the sanctuary, but it was beginning to shrink.

“Do… did you want to go where he’s buried?” Steve asked.

Natasha shook her head. “He’s not actually here. There’s an etching of his name in the columbarium downstairs, but the actual space is empty. SHIELD never released his body.”

He frowned at that as the wheels in his head turned over and over that little detail. "Then can I ask a really shit question?" Steve said, his impulsivity roaring back.

"It's a shitty situation, so sure."

"Why are you here instead of at Fury's grave? Especially since Phil isn’t here anymore than Fury's in his grave. And y’know… Given… what day it is..."

"You worked that out?" She gave him a rather dry but no less amused smile as she danced her fingers lightly over the candle flame, watching it dance and flicker.

He cracked a self-deprecating grin. "I was a little slow on the uptake, but yeah. I eventually figured it out."

"The reason I'm here and not in D.C. is because Coulson would have trusted me when SHIELD fell. If he'd still been alive to see it, which in a way I'm glad he wasn't. But Fury didn't. When HYDRA rose, Fury wasn't sure I wasn't with them."

"Yeah, I remember that it seemed like that stung." Steve said. "I didn't really catch on at the time, but thinking back…"

"Yeah. It stung alright." she replied bitterly. "But Phil? He never doubted me. Not even for a second. Not even from the very beginning. Even Clint wasn't quite sure what to make of me at first. But then again… that was Phil. I could trust in his trust long before I could anyone else's." 

All Steve could do was mutely nod in response. There was a lot to unpack there, and there was no way they'd do more than scratch the surface tonight.

Natasha grew quiet again, chewing on her lip before she rounded to face him suddenly, her eyes welling anew as the candlelight and shadows alike caught in her unshed tears. "Do you trust me? Still? After everything?" She asked, the words recklessly rampaging out of her mouth.

For a moment, Steve was struck dumb by the question. As if she'd slapped him across the face. And she looked as stunned as he did for the asking. The dam wrought of his reservation and deference broke then, and he pulled her into his arms, feeling her go limp and pliant against the solid wall of his body. He didn't answer her for a long time. Just held her close, rocking her gently against his chest before hooking one finger under her chin. "Natasha. Natasha look at me."

She did, pulling back just enough to look up at him with sparkling, tear-stained eyes, but not so much that he still wasn't wrapped around her like a blanket.

"I trust you." Steve said, tracing the tear-tracks down her cheeks and then back up again with his knuckles. "I told you at Sam's years ago. Nothing's changed, Nat."

"But I betrayed you." Her voice fractured around the statement.

"When?"

"After I signed the Accords. I handed you… Handed _Bucky_ right to-"

"You didn't know." he cut her off, smoothing a hand down her damp cheek. "None of us knew how big a mess that was going to be. I'm not sure much would have changed even if we had."

"I did." she said, her mouth twisting as if the words galled her. "I knew there were things wrong with the Accords. And I thought I… I thought we could fix it. If… if we just stayed together and didn't run from the problem. I thought… I thought we'd have more time."

"You were the smartest one of all of us there, Nat."

"Not smart enough." She said shaking her head derisively. "Not fast enough either. I knew there was something wrong with how they found Bucky. I fucking _knew_ it. You'd been looking for him for _years,_ but had been completely unable to find him. You had the best, most up to date intelligence. I know because I gave it to you. And yet you found nothing." She sniffed hard and wiped angrily at her face with the heel of her hand, which Steve caught and clutched to his chest before replacing it with his own to gently wipe away her tears. "I thought I was losing you. Losing us. Losing the only… the only family I had since SHIELD fell. Since..."

Steve's arms cinched around her, and he swore he almost felt her bones give under the pressure, but she leaned into it, her nails eating into the seams of his shirt. "You didn't lose me, Nat. You never will."

"We can't promise that anymore." She said shaking her head against his chest. "Not after Thanos."

"Then I'm not leaving of my own accord, then. How about that?" He said, tucking her up under his chin. "I won't just walk away like I did over the Accords. Okay? I promise if you think something's worth fighting over… or for… then we do that together. Just like we have since Siberia."

She just nodded, still digging her fingernails lightly into the fabric of his shirt as if it offered some sort of added security. They stayed like that a long time, with Steve still rocking her back and forth and listening to her grief flow like the tides as the candle steadily burned lower and lower.

"I'm sorry." she said after the freshest wave of grief had passed.

"Don't apologize." he replied, almost automatically. Before she'd even finished the words.

And she smiled at him then, still tearful but also grateful. "Come on." She laced their fingers together, pulling him back up the aisle of the sanctuary towards the exit.

"Where're we going?" he asked. "Your jet?"

"Nah." she answered. "You know how you're always teasing me about the fact that I have a safe-house everywhere?"

He snorted. "No way… one of Phil's old haunts?"

"Sort of, actually. We're going to stay at the priest's house, up the hill behind the church." She said, pausing to lock the door behind them with the inside latch.

Steve blinked twice. "The priest's house? That's your safe-house here?"

"What do you think a safe-house is, Steve?" she replied, punching him lightly on the arm. "A concrete bunker buried in a field? Some basement hideaway?"

Steve swallowed a "Yes." and just shrugged. Learn something new every day.

Her humor softened as she explained. "At Phil's funeral, Father Kelly told me he knew someone with a hard job when he saw them. And Phil was one of those people that's he'd clocked for that. He knew he worked for some kind of secret organization. Dangerous work… like the CIA or military intelligence. Anyway, I don't think for a second that he believed we were just work friends, because before I left he told me if I ever needed a place to hide, there was a key hidden under the statue of St. Julian on his porch."

When they rounded the back of the church's regrettably designed facade, the shadow of the steeple pointed the way up a winding walkway to a modest little house tucked against the tree line. The porch light was on. A dark road, but light up ahead. Somewhere in the swirling, divided recesses of Steve's admittedly romantic mind, he hoped it meant something.

"Did Father Kelly make the same offer to Clint?" Steve asked as they walked.

Her lips thinned and she watched her feet moving over the sidewalk for a moment. "Clint wasn't there."

"What?"

"He was still in mandatory SHIELD inpatient psych eval after the whole mind control thing. So he didn't make it."

Steve slowed a few steps as he took in the breadth of her meaning. "You were at Phil Coulson's funeral alone?"

"Well, not totally alone… Fury and Hill were there."

Steve came to a full stop then, cutting her a look when she stopped with him. "You were at Phil Coulson's funeral alone?" he repeated a little more pointedly.

"There wasn't anyone to come with me." She shrugged, lifting her chin a little. "The world isn't always as it should be. If it was, we'd be out of the job." she said, smiling at herself as if she'd told a joke as they both started moving again. "Phil always said that. And he always talked about how we gave up picket fences and steady lives so others could have them. Weddings. Funerals. Game days. Birthdays. They were part of the sacrifice. Made sense when I was younger. And when SHIELD was more stable than work at the KGB. When all that seemed like a pipe dream."

"SHIELD still treated agents like they were expendable." Steve pointed out.

Natasha inclined her head. "True. I like to think of that as HYDRA's influence though. Phil wasn't like that. He didn't run missions with "acceptable casualties" anywhere in the plan."

"Probably because his two team leads were his lovers."

"Shoulda been a liability." Natasha acceded. "But somehow it never was. We're still the most successful Strike Team in SHIELD history. And had the lowest casualty rate, both for civilians and agents. Failed three missions out of fifty eight. Casualties in the single digits. STRIKE never even got close to that on either front. We were the best. Guess we always will be now."

They climbed the creaky porch steps and found the key in its promised hiding place under the patron saint of hospitality. The priest's house was modest, but it was clear he'd lived and served this congregation for decades. Everywhere were knick-knacks and icons. A lifetime of sweet presents from grateful families and children.

"So where is Father Kelly?" Steve asked, looking around. "I'm guessing he's not home."

"He and most of his congregation are on an aid mission to Haiti."

"Ah."

"Come on. Guest room's this way." She pointed up the narrow stairs.

The guest bedroom was not much bigger than Steve and Bucky's tiny little Brooklyn apartment. That was Steve's first impression of the room, and it brought with it a scalding wave of grief that he just barely managed to choke back down. Anyone else might've missed it. But not Natasha. Even in the dim light, her eyes caught on the split second furrow of his brow. She saw the thunder clouds roll by behind his eyes.

"What is it, Steve?"

He shook his head, but answered truthfully knowing any attempt to dodge would be futile. "This room is about the size of the apartment I shared with Bucky back in the day. That was literally the first thought in my brain."

Natasha looked around with new eyes, taking in the low ceiling and the cramped walls.

"It's nicer though. And warmer." Steve went on, making himself smile if only for her. "And I bet that bed's softer." Now that he was really thinking about it, lying down sounded amazing.

"Come on." she said, pulling at his hand to draw him closer to the bed. "Let's get some sleep. You've been on your feet for almost twenty-four hours."

Steve let himself be tugged along. "You've been up for longer."

"Yeah, but I knew what I was in for when I woke up today."

"Fair enough." he replied. "You knew I'd follow you."

She smiled, a little sad but not too much. "If I know anything about you, Rogers, it's that you'll follow me anywhere."

"Would you return the favor?" Steve asked, the question galloping out of his mouth before he could rein it in.

Her brow creased as she tugged him closer, his leather jacket creaking under her hands. "I promise." she replied, with a certitude and sincerity that seemed to be the axis upon which the earth spun.

Steve looped an arm around her waist, tipping her chin up with his free hand and stealing a kiss from her plush, upturned lips. She swayed into him, free and easy, and for a moment they both just breathed in one another's presence. It never turned desperate. It never turned hungry. It was just…

Grateful.

A gratefulness that came from knowing with shocking certainty that nothing is guaranteed.

They both undressed down to their underwear, turned out the lights, and Natasha slipped into bed with her back to the wall. Steve followed her with practiced ease, tucking her against his chest as he had for hundreds of nights. She would never not feel small, he realized. Peggy had never felt small. And of course neither had Bucky, before or after. But Natasha always had.

But small never meant weak. Especially when it came to Natasha, and if anyone understood that, it was Steve. No… Natasha felt small in the way precious, pointed things feel small. And he would never get enough of holding her like this. He always coveted the heat of her body against his...

And clearly the sentiment was mutual because she burrowed closer, her hips wriggling against his under the sheets and her breasts brushing against his chest. Steve felt her smile against his bare skin as she pressed a kiss against his sternum. "You're hard." Natasha whispered the words into the humid space between them.

He was. Halfway there anyway, pressing against the soft hollow of her hip as she hitched one leg over his waist. Proximity to Natasha had that side effect. "It's alright." he said, kissing her neck in an effort to hide a self-conscious blush. The scent of her skin did nothing to hinder his arousal, especially now that she'd pointed it out, but he couldn't resist. And that didn't mean he wasn't sincere.

Natasha pulled back, pressing the flat of her palm over his growing erection and watching a fresh furrow eat its way down between his brows. He sucked in a hissing breath between nearly clenched teeth. 

"Natasha…" her name was halfway between unbridled need and a desperate attempt to rein himself in.

She rocked her hand over him, feeling him follow the motion. "It's alright. Let me have you…" she whispered. "Here and now…"

He looked down to see her staring up at his face, dark-eyed and wanting. She didn't look the least bit tired, but there was a languid, sleepy sort of arousal coiling in the clockwork behind her eyes.

"All yours…" he breathed, catching her lips with his. There was still nothing hungry or demanding to the kiss. Nothing save the soft pleading of Natasha's breath as she stroked his still clothed cock, feeling it throb and thicken. Her body rolled against his in sinuous time with the rhythm of her hand. The minutes seemed to stretch as she worked him up. Especially when his hands found her breasts, thumbs on her nipples to feel them stiffen under his attention. Then it was her turn to push and arch into his touch, sweet little moans wafting through the dark.

She used a particularly languid curl of her body to pull him on top of her. She locked her ankles around his back and let him grind his now rock-hard length against the crease of her hip. She kissed him again as she felt his muscles begin to ripple and twitch with suppressed desire. Natasha smiled to herself. This was half the fun of sex with Steve. Watching him shed his self-control a little at a time. His shyness, his deference, his defenses. They all came away layer by layer. With just a little patience and sweetness, she could have him coming apart in her hands.

But tonight would be a little more difficult, given the circumstances.

Steve pulled back abruptly, panting a little. Not from exertion but from the steadily rising heat kindled by their slow grinding. "I'm not going to last if you keep doing that."

"Then help me get my underwear off and you can dive right in." she whispered in a lilting tone, nosing along his jawline.

He swallowed thickly at that suggestion, and Natasha had to work to keep herself from sucking a bruise into his convulsing throat. 

"I should-" he started.

"Come on, Steve." she coaxed, dragging a finger up the length of his cock, feeling the damp spot of precome on his underwear. "You know it won't take long. You like it like this."

"Natasha…" Only Steve could make a full sentence out of just her name. But when he looked up, he saw the wicked smile cutting her face. And underpinning it was a beautiful, aching warmth that he wanted to bury himself in, both figuratively and not. "Okay…" he relented, kissing her again and reaching for his waistband. "Okay."

He peeled her underwear down her legs before she resettled him over her, drawing both him and the sheets up over and around her like a cocoon. He didn't even need his hands to fit the head of his cock against the flushed entrance of her pussy. They did this so many times… so many ways… half-awake in the morning, rutting away to burn off their craving like the sun burns off morning mist. 

He sank in, barely two inches and she gasped. Her head fell back, spilling her ombre hair against the pillow with a reedy moan. He nearly withdrew, but she kept her legs wrapped securely around him and with one foot she pulled as she tipped her hips just so. He unwittingly sank in another inch and sucked in air at the sensation of heat and wet overwhelming him. 

Heat and wet and _tight._

He half-collapsed over her, as if her body had a gravity all its own. It did in truth. It was dragging him deeper and deeper into the shuddering, clutching slickness of her body. "Natasha… Nat... " he whispered her name like a prayer. Whether of gratitude or for salvation was anyone's guess. 

Natasha thought it was safe to assume both, given the blissed out yet conflicted look on his face.

"Nice and slow, Rogers." she crooned in his ear again. "That's how you like it, isn't it?"

His only answer was a formless groan of pleasure as he let himself sink down again. Her hips curled to catch him, allowing him to bottom out as he gathered her against his chest. She was folded in half under him as he began to rock over her. The thrusts themselves were shallow, but the movement of his body had him rubbing perfectly over that sensitive bundle of nerves just inside her pussy. The friction was perfect, just like it always was, and she could feel herself squeezing up tight around him.

"Ah… ah…" she whined high in her throat. The sensation was overwhelming like this. Without much foreplay… without much of anything. But she liked this sometimes. It made the wind up slower, but the payoff was better. Steve kept the pace, his mouth everywhere all at once. Her breasts. Her collarbones, which he loved to edge with is teeth. And her mouth too… drinking in languorous kisses and swallowing her moans as if nothing in the whole world tasted better. The angle was perfect. The pressure… the weight of him inside her was perfect. Only a handful of steady thrusts and she could feel the first tingles of her orgasm sparking as he worked himself inside her.

Steve was breathing hard against her neck. Mouth open, teeth grazing her throat as he thrust into her over and over. He didn't grip her hard. He didn't need to. She was hanging on with all her limbs so he only needed to cradle her. God, she was good like this… so good to him by letting him have her like this. Let him fuck her open slow and sweet and bury himself inside the slick clutch of her body. It was a practiced dance, but one he never got tired of. Both of them wrapped up in the bedclothes. No sight. Just sensation and sound in the dark.

"Steve…" he heard her whisper.

"What is it, Nat?" he replied, face buried in her hair.

"I'm so close... " she whined. "Don't… don't stop…" Before he could reassure her, he felt her convulse around him, limbs tightening as a reedy moan worked its way up her throat.

Orgasms like these were Natasha's favorite. No concussive burst of pleasure. No nails digging in. No fighting to get to the edge. No screaming. No sound other than a tiny gasp as incandescent waves of pleasure rolled out from her core just under her skin, like ripples of heat in the desert. She rocked herself on his cock, coaxing every last shudder of ecstasy she could before going pliant under him.

"Fuck," she heard him grit the word out between his teeth as he buried himself deep inside her. She'd milked an orgasm from him too as it turned out, just as sweet and syrup slow. He gripped her shoulders as he pumped himself inside her once, twice, three times and then went limp over top of her.

She kept herself wrapped around him until her muscles shook with the strain. And even after she went slack under him, neither moved for a long while, barring the occasional overstimulated shiver. Steve rolled to his side after he'd slipped out, pulling her to face him again, and they rode out the aftershocks in a haze of lazy kisses and lingering touches. 

"Better?" she teased, bumping his nose with hers.

"Much better." he said with a rather hazy smile. "I'm willing to bet I'm not the only one who needed it."

"Hardly a bet when it's a sure thing."

He smiled then, pressing his lips to her forehead. But when he pulled back, he saw that look was back. That strange, blank, clockwork look that was so uniquely Natasha. It always worried him to see it nowadays. It had become so rare, at least before the Snap. It seemed to be making a comeback now… with everything that had happened.

"What are we, Steve?" she asked, staring up at him and tracing the line of his jaw with one finger. Carefully… as if it were sharp enough to cut. "Are you still just my friend?"

He licked his lips, settling down against the pillows as he thought. "I don't think we were ever ‘just friends.’" He finally answered. "Not after the Triskelion. After…"

She nodded vaguely as though she agreed but wasn't sure what to make of it. "Then what is this? What are we?" 

Steve looked at her a long time. And then away. And then back again, mouth working all the while. "I dunno. Seems a little passe at this point to say you're my girlfriend. You're… I think of you more like my partner. In all things, it would seem. You're definitely the person I'm closest to."

She blinked at him. Once. Twice. It was like watching a camera shutter click or a pendulum swing. Slow but mechanical. He could see her weighing something on the scales behind her eyes. Somewhere behind that calculating blankness.

"I love you, Steve." she said finally, light kindling where the balance had swayed and come to rest. "I should've said it before now. Long before now."

He smiled then, that sad sweet smile that made her want to kiss him until he really smiled. "You have said it."

"I have?"

"I mean… 'Be careful?' Isn't that what we mean when we say that? What we've always meant? We know neither one of us is actually going to be careful."

She nodded a little, a smile threatening like a thundercloud. "We should say what we mean, then."

"I don't dispute that."

"Then… I love you, Steve Rogers."

Steve leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the forehead. "I love you too, Natasha Romanoff."

And just like that, it was like the clouds parting after rain. The ground was still wet. The sun wasn't quite shining. But the bright blue sky winked at them from behind its overcast shroud, and a dry breeze blew, chasing the petrichor ahead of it. The burden of the last few months hadn't lifted. Nor had the burdens of their past lives. Not by a long shot. 

Yet somehow, those little words between them made those burdens easier to carry. Neither of them said it, but they didn't need to. Just like they hadn't needed those magic words before now. As in all things, when the time had been right, they had what they needed. And they couldn't ask for more than that. 

Or more than each other.

***

_They were there the night the wall was drowned_  
_In the surging of that tidal crowd._  
_An old world made new_  
_On the same holy ground._  
_She found him standing, looking lost_  
_In the shadow of St. Stephen's cross,_  
_And he closed his eyes and heard no sound_  
_But her breathing warm against his mouth._

***

Steve awoke to a gray sky and an empty bed again. A washed out room and cold sheets and the smell of coffee. Again. He jerked awake instantly this time, sitting up straight at attention as he scanned his surroundings.

"Easy, soldier." Natasha's sweetly husky voice purred from behind him. "I didn't go far this time." He rolled over to find she was sitting in the little window seat wrapped in a threadbare flannel robe and sipping at a cup of coffee. She tipped her mug to him and smiled, mostly with her eyes. "Yours is on the bedside table."

He blinked rapidly as he willed the adrenaline to clear. "Mm… thank you." He said rather creakily as he rocked himself up into a seated position. He grabbed the mug and took a long sip, moaning halfway through. It was perfect. Because of course it was. Natasha had been making him coffee for years now. Of course it would be perfect.

A silence not unlike that of the church the previous evening settled over them. But somehow, in the fuller light of morning, it was even more ill fitting. Like a too-small wool sweater. The silence shrank around in around them until at length, and after a fortifying drink of her coffee, Natasha spoke. 

"Steve… before we left for Kiev to… to help Bucky, you gave me something. Your… your star. From your uniform."

"You've still got it?" It wasn't even really a question. Just seemed like what he should say.

She nodded. "It's always on me." she said, each word falling with the surety of a hammer stroke. "I decided that need to give you something of mine. Since we're keeping things for each other." She reached into the pocket of her robe and pulled out something attached to a length of thin chain.

Steve scooted forward in the bed, stretching out his hand. She pressed a square of leather into his waiting palm, and he turned it over with his thumb revealing a metal disc etched with a stylized eagle.

Her SHIELD badge.

"Nat..." he breathed, eyes going a little wide as he looked up at her. 

She just smiled, looking both a little pleased and a little sad. She loved when he would just say her name. He could put so much meaning behind it. She pushed the badge insistently against his palm. "This was my anchor. Being a SHIELD Agent was my anchor. It was my job, but it was also my compass. It was how I measured and decided everything about who I wanted to be once I was free of the KGB and the Red Room. And even after SHIELD fell, I tried to keep to that. Keep those… scales. That balancing act. But… it's gotten harder to think about in those terms." she said, tapping one finger on the leather-backed disc in his palm. "And I guess… that's because you're my anchor now. You have been for awhile now. Ever since… really..."

Steve frowned, hand tightening around the badge and her fingers. Something in him wanted to argue, but that instinct died when he saw the look in her eyes. Earnest, and hopeful, and not just a little bit desperate. 

"I'll take care of it for you, Nat." he said with a tone approaching reverence.

A smile flickered in her eyes like a guttering candle flame. "We're even now, I guess."

"It's not a transaction, Natasha." he said with a faint frown. "You're not a line in some accounting book."

"I know to you I'm not." she replied, hugging her arms around her legs and laying her cheek against her knee. She was still staring at him with those sweet, earnest eyes. The ones that hid nothing because there was nothing to hide. "There's a lot of my old thinking that I can break. That I have broken. But that way of thinking's not one of them. For me, everything is a calculation. A trade-off. A transaction. It just has to be. Because if I think of the fire I set in the children's hospital in Moldova any way other than as lines in a ledger that needs to be balanced, I will crack clean down the middle. So it has to be numbers for me. It has to be "debt," and "owing," and "paying it forward" so that I don't think... " Her eyes flickered as she glanced away for just a second, that haunted, hollow look flooding back before she hardened her face again and looked at him with clarity and indisputable purpose. "I want to be even with you."

"Then we're even." he said simply, fingers curling around her badge again as he swiftly stowed any will to argue. "We're even. You and me."

She moved to him then, her robe falling away to reveal that she was naked underneath. Steve caught her in his lap, scooping his hands under her ass to pull her pelvis flush with his. He'd woken up already halfway to being hard, but blood pooled low and fast as soon as her body touched his. Natasha shoved the sheets out of the way until they were skin to skin. She took her badge from his hand and threw the lanyard around his neck, grasping it like the reins of a horse in one hand as she cupped his cheek to kiss him.

She rode him all the way down onto the bed. And with a gentle lift and tilt of her hips, he was sliding inside her. Years ago he would have balked at things moving so fast. Would have tried to stop her in an effort to keep from hurting her. But she knew him, more importantly she knew herself. And he wanted her. Wanted her to have him however she wanted him. 

"Oh…" She sighed when she was properly seated on his length. It was a sweet, high little sound that repeated as her hips found a galloping rhythm with his. Her fingers stayed tangled in the chain of her badge around Steve's neck. And Steve clutched her hands against him until the chain and her nails ate into his skin. He fucked up into her, meeting each rolling thrust with perfect, practiced timing. 

God, he loved her. There was no two ways about it. Not anymore. Not after everything. It hadn't started there, but this was where they were. He loved Natasha. Ardently. Incandescently. And irretrievably. 

They found each other's lips as if gravity had pulled them together. And as they kissed, Steve pressed his thumb to her clit just like she knew she liked. In tight, slippery little circles. Round and round, winding her tighter and tighter as she rode his cock with greedy abandon. Her inner walls worked him feverishly, making him see stars as they collided together.

"Natasha… God… honey…"

A wicked smile worked its way up to her lips even as she panted for breath. "Honey?" She asked with teasing amusement, giving a serpentine little roll of her hips that had him moaning her name again, along with the sweet endearment.

"Natasha… Honey…" he sighed roughly, still meeting her every thrust.

She grabbed his hands, pinning him to the bed with her forearms. "Do I taste good? That why you call me 'honey?'"

"Better." he responded.

"Prove it."

Something keen and quick lit in Steve's lust-dark eyes. A pivot of limbs and a twist of his shoulders, and suddenly Natasha was on her back with Steve plowing into her. His mouth was at her neck and his hands gripped her hips hard enough that she was sure she'd bruise. But she just gathered him to her, hand in his hair and nails raking up the ditch of his spine as he thrusted and thrusted, groaning wordlessly all the while.

She gathered him up, and held on, feeling Steve Rogers lose himself to her. Feeling him rutting blindly as he pressed messy kisses wherever he could reach. Kisses that were full of her name and the press of his teeth.

"I love you." He whispered, the words coming out humid and muffled. 

She dragged him up to look him in the eye. His pupils were blown black and he stared at her as if she were a fever dream. The best fever dream. One he was content to burn with forever. "I love you too, Steve." she panted, pulling him to her again after a sloppy kiss that was more tongue and teeth than anything else. And she whispered it into his hair over and over as waves of heat began to wash up from her core and spread under the surface of her skin.

_I love you, I love you, I love you…_

Steve didn't stop, even when he felt her go limp. Even when she had only enough breath to whisper the shadows of the words she kept repeating. He knew her body. He could stoke her orgasm even as he felt his own building. And he followed a second later in a scalding, all subsuming rush before collapsing on top of her.

Natasha whined when she felt his cock slip out, and buried her face in the crook of his neck in an effort to reduce the space between them. And it was Steve's turn to bundle her to his chest this time and let her go slack in his arms. They lay like that a long time, chasing and catching their breath as they painted gentle caresses over one another's skin.

"You've gotten really good at that." Natasha opined, her voice still a little raspy.

"Yeah?"

"I'm scared I might get boring if I'm that easy for you to bring off."

"Life with you is many things, Natasha Romanoff. But never boring." Steve said, pressing a kiss to her temple.

Natasha reached up and ran her finger between his skin and the chain of her badge, which still hung around his neck. 

"I'll keep it safe. I promise." He said, still kissing his words into her hairline.

"Thank you."

"Just so that we're even." he cracked a soft smile.

"Thought that didn't matter to you."

"It doesn't." Steve replied seriously. "But it matters to you."

She gave a vague, thoughtful little nod. "We should probably get back." she said, instead of whatever it was she was thinking.

"Probably." Steve agreed. "Before Captain Danvers decides to come check on us."

"Or Rhodey." Natasha opined. "Shower?"

"Won't we get distracted?"

"I know I plan to." She replied with a wink before pulling them both to their feet. "And speaking of distractions, before we go home, I want pancakes."

"Okay. That sounds amazing, actually. Where do we go to get pancakes around here?"

"I know Phil's favorite breakfast spot from when he was a kid. Come on."

***

**Author's Note:**

> Come scream with me about all the fandoms over at @littlethingwithfeathers on Tumblr! MCU, Agents of SHIELD, Venom, Hannibal, Game of Thrones, Lord of the Rings, The Newsroom, and whatever else has caught my attention... plus updates about my fic writing!


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